


Petrol Blues

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Bobby Singer, Churches & Cathedrals, Dead John Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Gen, Homophobic John Winchester, Implied Dead John Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, POV Bobby Singer, Pastor Bobby, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sad Dean, Some Humor, getting married, inspired by a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 22:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “I don’t know…” Dean’s lip quivers. His voice cracks following up with: “I don’t… I don’t know anything.”Bobby tilts his head back in mock-contemplation. “What about Cas?”“What?”“Do you know Cas?”





	Petrol Blues

**Author's Note:**

> For my good friend, Alyssa, who requested a Destiel centered around alt-J's "Nara". (Title named after a line in the song I thought was fitting, considering Cas's eyes and all.)

_Soon_  
I'm gonna marry a man like no other  
Light the fuse, hallelujah, hallelujah

 _Love, love is the warmest color_  
Petrol blues, hallelujah, hallelujah  
Comes, saut dans le vide, my lover  
In my youth the greatest tide washed up my prize

_You._

Petrol Blues

Pastor Singer opens the doors to the church when he sees him. He’s sitting in the front pew with his silk shoulders slumped so his head’s facing the wooden floorboard. Bobby doesn’t need his caramel hair that looks like a wave crashing over the right side of his scalp, or his legs that never seem to touch to rat out the man’s identity. He’s known Dean since he was potty-training and has known his father longer than that.

“Well you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Dean looks up, only acknowledging the comment with a half-hearted shrug. The paleness in his face makes his freckles look like chicken pocks and his eyes are bereft of any light.

Bobby sighs in a way he knows Dean will appreciate later (if there’s one thing Dean adamantly hates, it’s pity) and crosses the floor to sit across from him. “Alright,” Bobby says, activating his outside work voice: “What’s goin’ on, boy?”

Dean waits a moment to answer. In that time, he fixates on the giant cross on the podium with giant nails driven into the Holy Spirit. It used to have Jesus pinned to it when Pastor Singer adopted it, but _Bobby_ Singer didn’t like the message. He wants people to feel welcome when they walk in, and no offense to Jesus’s sacrifice and all, but His naked, battered corpse on the cross doesn’t exactly scream welcome.

“Would my father condone my marriage?”

“Of course,” Pastor Singer assures. “God loves you the most unconditionally of anyone, you know that.”

“No,” Dean says, rubbing the fingers he has wringed in his lap, “I mean my dad.”

Bobby nods. Not in answer, but in understanding. He can’t answer for John Winchester. The Winchesters were regular church-goers until tragedy hit. Dean was shy of his teen years when his mom was killed in a hit-and-run and John wasn’t shy of _anything._ He turned to drinking, drugs—anything to make the days pass quicker. There were too many times Bobby drove John’s sons’ home because John was too messed up.

Eventually, he sought help and returned to church, but a new problem arose: Without anything to keep him complacent, John turned to verbal abuse. It all came to a rearing head when he caught Dean getting a little too friendly with Aaron Bass, the Jewish kid from the synagogue across the street. Bobby’s not sure what exactly was said, but he remembers Dean coming into church the following Sunday with his full, undivided attention.

“I don’t know,” Bobby—not Pastor Singer—answers. “Your dad could be a real asshole sometimes.”

Dean huffs a weak laugh at that, then rejoins with: “You know, I didn't pay attention in church much as a kid."

"Oh, I remember," Bobby reassures. "You were always too busy runnin' your mouth with questions when you weren't sneaking in your father's copies of Busty Asian Beauties during the readings."

“‘And on those parts of the body that we think less honorable we bestow the greater honor,’” Dean retorts with a smirk. “Corinthians.”

Bobby shakes his head, but is glad to see some light coming back to his eyes—not just the green reflected from the stained glass window to the left of them. “You remember _that_ part of the reading, but do you remember what follows that passage? Corinthians 13, 11 through 13?”

Dean’s shoulders, still slumped, pivot to Bobby in response.

“‘When I was a child, I spake as a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child,’” Pastor Singer gauges Dean’s reaction, whose eyebrows stay tapered to his tense forehead. “‘But when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.’”

Dean opens his mouth, but closes it just as quick. “So, you’re saying…”

“No, no,” Bobby interrupts, waving his hand like a cross guard, signaling for Dean to slow down on the busy road he’s driving on. “ _I’m_ not saying anything.”

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t—”

“Dean, if there’s anything I wanted to wire into that thick-headed melon of yours; it’s that I want you to think for yourself,” he says, searching Dean’s eyes for any sort of conception as to what he’s saying. Instead of confusion, Bobby’s met with fear. Not fear like Jesus walking into a night club. _Real_ fear, the kind that’s caused by someone else’s infliction—someone corrupted by the world’s tainted fruits. An Adam that lost his Eve. (Not that that’s an excuse for John Winchester’s actions.)  “What does the verse say to _you_?”

“I don’t know…” Dean’s lip quivers. His voice cracks following up with: “I don’t… I don’t know _anything_.”

Bobby tilts his head back in mock-contemplation. “What about Cas?”

“What?”

“Do you know Cas?”

That question seems to catch Dean’s ear. “Of course I know Cas,” he scoffs, ogling Bobby like he’s drowning himself in the blood of Christ. “I’m marrying the guy tonight, for Christ’s sake! Why would you even ask that?” He pauses to catch his breath. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “For, you know, Lord’s name and all…”

“I think you answered your own question, son,” Bobby returns with a smile.

Like clay, Dean’s face hardens more before it softens under water and his lips allow for a smile too. Bobby hasn’t seen a smile like that since Dean was a ten-year-old catching a glimpse at Mildred Baker’s cleavage when she had that stumble from the choir stand. It’s one of the reasons why he opened up his own church: So he can educate people; not preach at them. Besides, he’s a sixty-seven year old dating a woman, Sheriff Mills, fresh in her forties: _He’s_ bound to be subject to people’s judgment too and he’s too old for that crap.

“I’m not marrying my dad,” Dean goes onto say, “I’m marrying my best friend: I’m marrying someone who love and accepts me for who I am. I don’t know about my dad, but I _know_ about Cas. I _know._ ”

Bobby winks as he places a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You’ve got this, boy,” he says before standing up from the pew as he fastens the collar on his jacket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a wedding to officiate in a couple hours.”

 

_I've discovered a man like no other man_ __  
I've discovered a man like no other man  
I've discovered a man like no other man  
I've found a love to love like no other can


End file.
